


Farewells

by nereidee (aurasama)



Series: Frictional October 2018 challenge [10]
Category: Amnesia: The Dark Descent
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Sibling Bonding, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 14:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurasama/pseuds/nereidee
Summary: Daniel visits Hazel in the hospice, bringing her a gift - and news that she has both dreaded and expected for some time. Sibling fluff, set before the events of the game.Written for the Frictional October challenge on Tumblr, based on the prompt 'family'.





	Farewells

Her brother is pale, paler even than usual when he knocks on the door and enters her room. The dark circles under Daniel's eyes seem to always be there, Hazel thinks. So rare are the occasions where she's seem him without them that it's as if he's been born with them though she knows it's not true, but today they seem even deeper, his eyes nothing but hollows in his thin face. It makes him appear older than he is.

Daniel closes the door after himself quietly before turning to her and his mouth stretches into a faint smile, some of his weariness melting away. “I'm sorry I'm late today, Hazel. How are you feeling? Did you get to sleep properly last night?”  
  
She returns his smile and chooses to say nothing of the coughing fits that kept her up all night, or of the black blood on her handkerchief afterwards. He knows her illness too well; sometimes it feels like she's never had a life without it, and that all their shared memories are marred by its presence like some shadow, and Hazel wants to forget. She wants him to forget, too, and for one afternoon not to talk or think about it; let him be someone else than the older brother of his only, dying sibling.  
  
Hazel lifts her hand and wordlessly, Daniel takes it and sits down on the edge of her bed. His hand is warmer than hers and he gives it a squeeze.  
  
“You've been busy lately,” she remarks, but her tone is gentle. “The professor works you too hard.”  
  
“He doesn't, Hazel, really. I've simply had trouble prying myself away from my work recently.” He squeezes her hand again and there is a worried frown on his face when Hazel meets his eyes. “I'm sorry for leaving you alone so much, especially with mother and father—“  
  
Hazel squeezes his hand back and interrupts what is surely turning into another one of his rambling monologues. “You know I'd never blame you for taking your work seriously, Danny.”  
  
“But… I should—“  
  
“You worked so hard to get there, so don't go feeling guilty about enjoying it, especially not for my sake. I remember how badly you wanted it, you know.”  
  
She remembers all the sleepless nights and the wall-shattering arguments when their father had found out his only son wished to pursue a career in the academics instead of continuing the family business. Yelling, slammed doors, mother's pursed lips, her silence more impenetrable than ever. The bruise on Danny's cheek that he went to such efforts to hide. The persuasive letters from professor Herbert that had resulted in yet more arguments, threats, until it became too much and one morning a carriage had turned up to take him and his belongings to Mayfair. The silence at the house had been absolute after his departure, and father had only started talking to him again when Hazel's condition had worsened. In her brother's eyes she can see that he hasn't forgotten, either, and they're both quiet for a long time.  
  
Hazel doesn't know how he's made it so far – she knows from her eavesdropping and their parents' badly concealed rows that after Danny's departure he's had to survive without their money, for father's support ended the moment he walked out the door – but she can see it from the way he walks and talks and holds himself that his years in the university have been good for him, that he's matured since then. He's become a self-made man, she thinks, or as self-made as anyone of his background can really be, and she's proud, so proud of him that her heart aches thinking about it. If only he'd stop feeling guilty about it.

It's a gloomy, overcast day that threatens rain, and though it seems to drain Danny of what little colour he has, there is something about him that seems unusual. A glow of sorts, as if he's bursting to tell her something extraordinarily good.  
  
Hazel smirks and nudges him in the ribs. “All right, out with it. What has happened?”  
  
He tries to feign ignorance but his cover breaks under her all-too-knowing look. He grins back and Hazel swears ten odd years vanish from his face immediately. Like he's a little boy again, with a mind that's all mischief and amusements underneath that serious mask.  
  
“All right, all right. You caught me.”  
  
She leans forwards and watches him pull up his suitcase, and her tone is amused when she jests, “so what play is it this time? Or are you going to some soirée again with your posh little friends?” He makes a face as Hazel pretends to take off an imaginary hat from her head, tilting her head in exaggerated manner. “How you manage to get any manner of sleep at all with this elusive lifestyle of yours remains a mystery to me.”  
  
“Come now, you make it sound like I'm out every night.”  
  
”Don't play coy, Danny. I know you beaus in your fancy hats and tailcoats – and _corsets_ tighter than a lady's.” She props her hands on her hips and adopts a singsong tone, saying, “please, ma'am, I dropped m'handkerchief! I can't bend over in this thing, would you kindly assist—“  
  
The rest of her sentence is cut off as they both burst into laughter simultaneously. Daniel's face is rather red but he laughs all the same, gently pushing away her hand as she tries to take his suitcase.  
  
“Oh, you're impossible,” he says, shaking his head. “And these accusations! I've never worn a corset in my life. What on earth have you been reading that gives you these ridiculous ideas?”  
  
“You can blame yourself and your stories,” Hazel reminds him with a smile. “And I've seen the cartoons in the papers, I know how you fashionable young men like to dress up these days.”  
  
He clears his throat meaningfully and opens the suitcase. “Be that as it may, no, I didn't come to tell you about parties or theatre. I wanted to give you… _this_.”

'This' turns out to be a book, a heavy leather-bound book with gilded covers, and Hazel inhales in excitement as he offers it to her. She takes it, already reading the title.  
  
“'Fairy tales from Saharan Africa',” she reads out loud. Daniel smiles wider.  
  
“There are plenty of interesting ones in there – stories that have never been published in English previously, you know. It's brand new, translated from French.”  
  
She leafs through it, pausing every few pages. The illustrations are lovely, she thinks, and the book still smells of fresh ink. It's perhaps her favourite scent in the whole world; the scent of the ink press and of a brand-new book, freshly unwrapped and brought home from the shop.  
  
“The legend of Tin Hinan,” she reads. The page opposite has a drawing of a beautiful black woman with her eyes closed and arms spread out as though in blessing or prayer. There is a regal air about her, Hazel thinks.  
  
“That one's especially curious,” Daniel says earnestly. “It's a Tuareg myth of their founding queen, a matriarch hailed as 'the Mother of us all' or 'woman of the tents' among her people. The professor told me that there is much proof that she was a real person – a mythical Tuareg queen from the 4th century.”  
  
“I've heard that name before. The Tuareg are nomads who live in the Sahara, aren't they?”  
  
Daniel seems pleased that she remembers and he nods. “They inhabit large territories in several countries in the Saharan region, such as Algeria.”  
  
Hazel feels a sting in her heart at the name. Daniel has been mentioning Algeria more and more frequently since last autumn and she knows it can only mean one thing; that the British Museum must have secured the funds for the excavation.  
  
“Danny,” she says, taking his hand again, and his smile falters at the tone of her voice. “There is something on your mind, isn't there?”  
  
_Please tell me,_ she thinks, _I'd much rather hear it from you than suffer this uncertainty any longer._  
  
He hesitates and averts his eyes, clearly seeking the right words. Hazel does not push him and simply waits, hand still holding his, and after a while he caves in.  
  
“Professor Herbert wants me to come along on the next expedition,” he blurts out, the words coming in a rush as if he can't keep them in any more. “To Algeria, I mean. We have the funds now and the preparations are already underway—“  
  
“Oh, Danny, that's wonderful!” she exclaims, and though it stings she does mean it. “When are you leaving?”  
  
“Hazel—“  
  
“You _must_ go, you hear me? I know you've wanted to see Africa for ages.”  
  
Daniel's expression is pained when he meets her defiant stare. “The professor said we'd be departing in April.”  
  
“Oh.” She pauses. “That's...”  
  
His smile is sad when he replies. “Only two months away, yes.”  
  
“And have you given the professor your answer yet?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then you must make haste, and do make sure the answer is 'yes'.” Hazel feels his hand shake in hers and he embraces her tightly, face buried against her shoulder. He says nothing, so Hazel pats his trembling back and whispers, “if your heart yearns for it, please do it. For my sake as well. Go and have a grand journey in Algeria.”  
  
“I wish I could bring you with me,” Daniel mutters, his voice breaking. “Like we dreamt when we were small.”  
  
She remembers it very well, how he alone encouraged her dreams of seeing the world, because he felt the same as she did. Even after she became too ill to leave the house he continued to kindle her desire to travel and brought her books and maps, telling her stories, allowing her to journey in spirit if not physically. He brought the world to her; now it was time for him to let go and see it for himself. Hazel pulls away from him gently and dries his tear-streaked face, and her excitement is genuine when she speaks again.  
  
“This is my dream, too, you know. And I'd have you experience it as fully and truly, as if I were there with you. Tell the professor that you'll be coming along.”  
  
They both know this time will be different from the previous ones – this time, he might not come back to see Hazel again. She sees the hesitation in his eyes and for a moment, she fears that he'll falter, because if he does she will too, but finally, Daniel nods. Hazel pulls him into her arms once more and hugs him with all the strength that she can muster. He sniffles in her ear.  
  
“Well then, I guess that's settled,” he says when she lets go. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and takes the book from her, opening it on his lap instead. “Would you like me to tell you more about Tin Hinan?”  
  
She beams at him. “Do you even have to ask? Take it away, maestro.”  
  
His laughter takes her years back in time and she decides she wants to treasure it in her heart for ever, for as long as she has left. These rare moments when they can go back to how they used to be; with the world in the horizon and tomorrow too far away to matter.

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely get to write it, but I love sibling fluff, family feels, all that jazz. Hazel is teasing Daniel about being a dandy (or at least dressing up as one when he goes out), in case you're not familiar with the time period and its fashions. And yes, fashionable young men were indeed known to wear corsets just like women did - the narrow waist with wide shoulders was a coveted look for both ladies and gents alike.
> 
> I drew some inspiration from my relationship with my younger brother and my cousins (who are actually so close to me that we call each other sisters and have done so for more than a decade). Siblings live to tease one another and you can't tell me otherwise.


End file.
